You deliver the message of 'aliveness' while trapped behind screens.

You create beauty while hunched over a computer -- the world passes by.

You built something real, but screens hollow you out—notification by notification, scroll by scroll.

Some days you're ablaze. Writing, facilitating, laughing, pulling your kids around in sunlight.

Other days? Withered behind another screen. Low energy. They pull you around instead.

Familiar?

Most people will die this way. Waiting for a crisis to force change.

I'm grateful every day for my broken neck in 2008. It taught me to kneel. To face what matters. That our plans mean nothing without presence.

You don't need to wait for your crisis.

Present Company is correspondence for those ready to grow. A community of people coming back to life.

An anti-Big Tech. A web of human intelligence—connected threads of light, off grid, offline.

Like roots beneath soil, mycelium in the dark.

The alternative to artificial intelligence and artificial life.

At the center: The Bloom Papers—a monthly newsletter arriving with each New Moon. Twelve pages, typewritten, folded, stamped.

Real postage. Real paper.

But it's not just correspondence from me to you.

Members write back. Letters by hand, by typewriter, however you make meaning.

We interact with the profound ones. We pose questions. We weave your words into the next moon. So it is community lead, at least informed.

We match members for direct pen pal correspondence. Kindred spirits letting real thoughts fly.

We send postcards. We gather by voice when the season calls. We meet in person for healing and conversation.

Everything slower. Everything through the mail.

No notifications. No timers. No arbitrary deadlines.

You know it's coming because the moon tells you.

After you join, you interact with screens ONCE for setup.

Then you close your laptop.

Everything else happens through the mail.

• No login portals

• No content libraries

• No videos to watch

• No email newsletters

• No digital reminders

• No usernames or passwords

• No checking if you "have access"

Watch the sky. Check your mailbox when the moon goes dark.

The Bloom Papers arrives with each New Moon—a coach, guide, and mentor in an envelope. Tapping into wisdom greater than our own.

Tips for your eyes and ears to open to life itself. Inspiration for what you're creating. Community wisdom from others walking this path.

This isn't "less screen time."

This is real moments, tied together by paper. Small totems waking you from the digital dream.

✓ Entrepreneurs who built something real but feel hollowed by screens
✓ Artists and creators who know their best work comes from presence, not productivity
✓ Healers and coaches who teach aliveness while sitting behind glass all day
✓ Parents done living too digitally
✓ Humans who are alive and want to be more alive

If you're a writer, artist, lover, philanthropist, entrepreneur, or nameless thing—this works if you're human.

AI doesn't know what season it is.

Present Company remembers.

Algorithms don't track the moon.

The Bloom Papers arrive with lunar phases.

Screens have no relationship to soil.

We plant seeds, tend growth, watch blooming.

The Bloom Papers are:

• Not content (they refuse to be consumed)

• Not contented (they disturb, they catalyze)

• Not contained (they spill beyond the page into your life)

Not a course. Not a hack. Not a framework.

An invitation to join a community refusing to live entirely behind glass.

Where entrepreneurs, artists, and healers build connection like roots beneath soil—invisible, essential, alive.

SEED → Receiving the transmission. Planting potential.

SOIL → Active participation. Tending, nourishing, deepening.

BLOOM → Full flowering. Complete embodied presence.

LIGHT → Illumination itself. Direct transmission.

Each honors where you are. Each invites you deeper.

It starts with a physical letter—a sample of the transmission, the essence, a few details.

If this speaks to you, request your Bloom Letter below.

After that, one digital moment for payment. Then pure analog.

The sky over Chapel Hill, flecked with falling oak leaves. This world screams to be seen.

This computer burns my eyes out.

If you're ready to grow, share your address.

We plant seeds.

We tend soil.

We help each other bloom.

While the world consumes content, we create presence.

In Bloom,
Steven Budden Jr.

Present Company